


salivating in bed

by objectlesson



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 06:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18543970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: A very brief trip to the grocery store.





	salivating in bed

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for anyone who's ever lived through the very particular condition of being SO into someone all you want to do is lie in bed with them. 
> 
> Tw for mentions of the sensation of hunger! this triggers me sometimes so I thought I'd mention it. There's also HINTS of aging angst and internalized homophobia but they're so minor you'll miss them if you blink. Unbetaed, messy as per usual. I hope someone enjoys!

Lightning and Doc have spent the better part of the last two days fucking non-stop. 

Actually, it’s more accurate to say they have been fucking _and_ making out _and_ just touchingeach other in broad, reverent strokes non-stop. Indulging completely and unrelentingly as you _do_ when you realize the months long unrequited love you've been nursing isn’t quite so unrequited after all. 

Lighting has _literally_ no desire to do _anything_ else whatsoever _,_ and Doc seems to feel the same way about such things even if he’s less vocal about it, so it’s pretty much all they’ve been up to: tangling, locked up in Doc’s house while the rest of Radiator Springs bustles on around them as if nothing remarkable at _all_ is happening there hidden away from the scorch of the sun. 

Lightning feels _high_ all the fucking time, wrung out and used up and _transformed._ He didn't even know sex could _be_ this good, didn’t know he could spend so much time doing it without getting tired or bored, didn’t know he would feel so perfectly fulfilled and satisfied just _kissing_ someone for hours waiting for his dick to get hard enough to come again. He feels so healed and energized by it, he completely forgets he’s supposed to be like, eating and stuff. 

He doesn't remember that’s a thing he has to do until Doc returns from the kitchen upon retrieving them some water, shrugs off his robe, and pulls his pants off the back of his desk chair and steps into them. “What are you doing?” Lightning asks, pouting from where he’s spread out naked and sweating on the bed they haven’t bothered to make in forty eight hours. “Don’t cover _up,_ I wanna see you,” he murmurs, holding out his hand and swiping the air beside Doc’s leg, since he’s too lazy to properly get up when he _knows_ they’re just gonna be in bed together again soon. 

Doc smiles down at him with a quirked up eyebrow, shakes his head while he feeds his belt through the loops of his trousers. “ We ran out of food,” he says, which hardly makes any sense and seems like a non-sequitur, to Lightning. 

He rolls over, arches his back, pushes his ass into the air. “You can eat me,” he mumbles into Doc’s pillow. 

He pushes out a long, careful sigh and Lightning thinks he _has_ him, braces himself for the slick perfect heat of his tongue the scrape of his stubble right where he wants it most. But instead Doc just leans over, palms at his ass before slapping it firm enough it smarts without actually hurting in any real or lasting way. “Nope. I _just_ washed my face,” he says, kissing up the deep curve of Lightning’s spine, thumbing over freckles and moles and the scratches he left there before he gets to the tender skin of his neck. “What sort of crew chief would I be if I let my boy starve, hm?” he says, low and gruff, mustache tickling and _fuck,_ Lightning whimpers, humps the bed. He _is_ hungry, probably. Under layer of constant, distracting arousal. But who the fuck cares, when there’s _this?_

 _“Are you_ hungry?” he asks, circling his hips against the bed. “Because I can wait.” 

“Of course I am,” Doc says, checking his watch by the bed. “It’s been almost six hours since breakfast.” 

“Fine,” Lightning says, sighing, defeated because he’s not gonna let Doc _starve._ “We’ll get food.” 

“I’ll be quick,” Doc promises, kissing his cheek long and sweet, like a goodbye kiss. 

“Wait, no. I want to come,” Lightning says, rolling over with wide, pleading eyes. He doesn’t like the idea of being _away_ from Doc that long, forced to lie here alone and possibly-hungry and _think_ about the things he wants without _having_ them. He’d rather have Doc touching-distance somewhere he can’t actually touch him than _not at all._

 _“_ Alright. Get dressed then, baby,” Doc tells him, slapping his thigh. “Can’t go out like that.” 

Lightning groans, tries to make his legs work, tries in vain to urge his half-hard cock to a less than half-hard state. It’s a struggle, but he’ll manage. 

—-

At the store, his whole body is humming pleasantly, fingers tingling, steps light and floaty as he wanders through the frozen food aisle at the Dollar Tree nearest to Doc’s house. No one else they know shops here, which is probably why they ended up at this particular location. Lightning know he’s gonna have to explain the marks on his neck away eventually, but he doesn't have the energy or eloquence to do it _now,_ with two days worth of fucked-out brains. 

It would be good, if Lightning was functional instead of fucked-out, right now. Maybe he could _contribute,_ grab helpful items off the shelf instead of walking around in a daze, staring at food and trying to remember why he needs it. 

Doc, luckily, seems to have this shit together. Lightning finds him in the produce aisle with half a full cart, thoughtfully handling bundles of lettuce, surveying each one. His hands look big and nice and prudent cradling them, and that _should_ not make Lightning swoon but he's _weak_ right now. He crowds Doc, as close as he can get without touching, pathetically drawn in by the way he handles _vegetables._

“Hi,” he says, biting his lips, eyes half-lidded as they climb up and down Doc’s throat, where the skin is dusted in silver hair, overgrown because Lightning has not been letting him shave. “We done yet?” 

Doc reaches out, grabs his hip only to push him an inch or so away, eyes burning, hot searing blue around a core of flint black. “Easy,” he says, quiet and rough. “We’re in public, kid.” 

Lightning, who has gotten used to be called variations of _baby_ and _boy_ for the last two days, frowns because this _isn’t enough._ He’s completely forgotten the glow of the florescence above them, the folks shuffling around with their carts, the smell of Fabuloso cleaner thick and cloying up by the resisters. It’s faded into nothing, replaced instead with the insistent thud of his blood-stream, the smell of Doc’s cologne which he must have dabbed onto the side of his neck before they left to mask the bite of spit and come. “What?” he mumbles mouth parting now, because it’s hard to _breathe_ if he doesn’t. The air is ten times closer and hotter in a foot wide radius around Doc, and he’s crossed that line, wavered too close. “M’not _doing_ anything,” he lies. 

“Oh, right,” Doc says, raising his eyebrow and tearing his gaze away so he can bag the lettuce. “Nothing at all. Really innocent, there.” 

“Fuck,” Lightning grinds out, getting close again, needing Doc’s _eyes_ again, that sharp, painful gaze cutting into him like a knife. “I just. I wanna get home again. Asap.” 

Doc turns back to him, eyes _just_ as blue and eviscerating as Lightning needs them to be. He places the lettuce into the cart without looking down and says, hushed and even like he’s _totally_ unaffected, “you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it home.” 

Like he would _fuck Lightning_ at a _Dollar Tree._ The mere idea is _so insanely_ absurd and _so insanely hot_ it leaves Lighting breathless and whining, kicking at the linoleum in his untied Doc Martens. Doc smirks, like that was his goal all along. “Here,” he says, handing Lighting a handwritten list. “You get the rest of this stuff on here and meet me in the check out line. Then I’ll get you home.” 

“Yes sir,” Lightning says, fingers burning from where they brushed Doc’s. 

—-

 _Everything_ takes too long. Paying, bagging, walking to the car. “I’ll drive,” Lightning offers, thinking he can _at_ least do that fast. He follows Doc to the driver’s side, tries to swipe his keys. 

“No you won’t,” Doc tells him, eyes glittering somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Think I’d trust you behind the wheel in this state? Hell no. Sit shot-gun, go on.” 

He whimpers, throwing the door open and collapsing into the seat, hips chasing nothing. Doc at _least_ claps a hand down hard on his thigh while he keeps the other on the wheel, gaze fixed on the blistering stretch of the road while he thumbs teasingly up a seam and drives them home. “I can’t look at you in public,” Lightning admits, twisting to face Doc, seatbelt cutting into his shoulder. “Can’t do it, not now. When I know what you look like between my thighs. Fuck. So handsome,” he murmurs, hand reaching to cuff the back of his neck. 

Doc’s mouth twists, he flinches and dodges the contact. “You know what a windshield is, boy?” he asks, thumb digging bruising and hot into Lightning’s quadricep through denim. Before Lighting can come up with a clever repute he says, “well, this one isn't tinted. Best stay under the line of it.” 

“Ugh,” Lightning pouts, reaching for Doc’s knee instead, digging his nails in through the maddening layer of fabric. “No one is out. It’s Sunday. And even if they are they’re not _looking,_ they don’t _care.”_

 _“_ You don't know that,” Doc mumbles. “Folks always care. You’d know that if you were my age.” Then his hand is sliding off, and _fuck,_ Lightning worries he’s pushed him away, lost him to the bouts of silence and denial he can slip into. It’s too easy to scare Doc off for brief intervals, say the wrong thing and convince him this isn't as good as an idea as it feels. Of course, he’s _wrong,_ it’s a _brilliant_ idea, the _best,_ butDoc has all these stupid, totally bogus ideas about what Lightning wants. It’s Lightning’s job to _remind_ him, of what that really is: Doc and only Doc, Doc’s bed and Doc’s house and the scratchy-wet burn of his mouth scouring all over Lightning’s body, the blinds drawn so they can’t tell what time of day it is and don't care because this is all that matters. 

Lighting settles against the window, crosses his arms, and hopes he doesn’t have to do much work talking him back down, tonight. He wants it and can’t _wait._

Doc surprises him, though. 

The second the door clicks shut behind them he drops the grocery bags on the floor, turns to Lightning, and hauls him up into his ams in one single labored, fluid motion. It leaves Lightning breathless, panting, face pressed to the thunder of Doc’s pulse and his heart pounding. He’s always secretly resented being short, but that evaporates out of him in a second, like Doc can just _touch_ him and cure his insecurities. “You _need it so bad,_ what m’I going to _do_ with you?” Doc growls against his ear as he strides to the dining room table and drops him there. A stack of papers and manilla envelopes digs into Lighting’s back but Doc sweeps it right off with his forearm, paper fluttering to the floor. 

It’s all so wildly, incomprehensibly hot and sudden Lightning can hardly _breathe,_ stomach repeatedly plummeting so he feels like he’s on a roller coaster. He gasps, spreading and bending his legs so Doc can bear down between them, spine rolling, dick hard in his jeans. “Fuck me,” he murmurs, pulling Doc down, kissing him wet and messy. “That’s what you should do.” 

“Can’t keep up with you,” Doc marvels, palming down Lighting’s thighs, pressing their brows together so hard it hurts. “The way you need it all the time. My fingers enough right now?” he asks, unbuckling his belt for him, fisting into his briefs and feeling him out. “God,” he moans as his fingers brush up against Lighting’s fluttering hole. “So puffy and fucked, baby. You still want it? Bet you’re sore.” 

“So sore, still want it, please,” Lightning keens out, static making his gaze messy, wrecking him so he’s trembling. He pulls Doc’s hand out of his pants and sucks his fingers into his mouth desperately, pushing a wet mouthful of saliva out into his palm. “Here.” 

“God,” Doc curses, getting Lightning’s jeans off so he can spread him proper, crack him apart. “How the fuck—what are we gonna _do,_ out on the track? You can’t even—can’t even last twenty minutes at the _store,_ boy, how are you going to race for me? When you need it like this, so bad, so often?” His breath gets ragged and broken as he pushes two fingers into Lightning’s hole, making him shudder and groan, tilting his head back so it can loll agains the hardwood of the table. _Fuck,_ it feels so good, it always _does,_ no matter how achey and tender he feels. The wild fervor of his body smoothes out into something manageable now, because _at least_ he's being filled, at _least_ he doesn’t have to worry about proving he wants it. Doc’s _giving_ it to him, and that helps the hunger. 

“I’ll race good for you, promise,” he chokes out, each word clipped and staccato as he fists his own cock in time with the deep, sweet thrust of Doc’s fingers inside him. “I’ll do anything for you.” 

“Yeah? Win for me? Even though all you really want is to come for me?” Doc whispers, breath hot and perfect against the shell of Lightning’s ear as he works his fingers in and out slow and deep. It _aches,_ too much and not enough all at once and Lightning pushes himself back down to meet each thrust half-way, cock twitching in his palm as he jacks himself off so fast it burns. The shit Doc _says_ always gets him closer than he realizes, so he’s writhing and gasping in overwhelm, vision reduced to a white haze before he even feels it coming. 

“Uh-huh, fuck, _anything,_ just— _god,_ Don’t stop, m’ _fuck, yeah,_ jesus _christ,”_ he yelps as he finishes, dripping onto his shirt as his ass clenches around the thickness of Doc’s fingers buried inside him. 

Doc kisses his gasping mouth before he has enough air, so he’s dizzy and squirming for a moment, drowned in sensation, light-headed with it. _Fuck._ He just can’t believe it can _be_ like this, over and over again, day after day. it doesn't seem _fair,_ like he’s cheated the system somehow and cashed out so good it shouldn’t be real. He wipes wet from his lashes with the trembling back of his hand as Doc pulls his fingers out in a burning mess of spit, mouth sucking at Lightning’s pulse while he does it. 

“How do you keep coming like that?” he asks, nipping his neck before shifting down to lick the few drips off the heather-grey cotton of his tee-shirt. “How are you not _empty?_ I’m empty. You milked me dry, baby.” 

Lightning reaches through the too-bright haze of his vision and messes up his carefully combed hair, scratching his nails through the thin, soft remnants of it while he hums, still buzzing. “Dunno, maybe it’s ‘cuz m’not a grandpa,” he jokes, smiling because the whole thing is a _lie,_ is ridiculous. He made Doc come this morning in his mouth, and _again_ last night, in his ass, while Doc folded him in half and cored him. Doc _loves_ to pretend he’s too old to be fucking at the frequency they are, loves to go _on_ and _on_ about how broken he is and how Lightning’s gonna get tired of him in a few months and trade him in for some eager virulent young thing like himself, but _then_ he does stuff like pick him up and throw him on the table and finger fuck him until he comes all over his own chest in one minute, like it’s _nothing._

The truth is that there’s no one in the _world_ who knows Lightning better, who could look right into his insides and see what he needed and _give it to him,_ just like that. Lightning grins, hooking one leg around Doc’s hips and bringing him close so he can kiss his jaw, lick up the sweat there. “I love you,” he announces for the hundredth time, rubbing their cheeks together, feeing Doc’s skin heat up right there against him. 

“We have frozen groceries,” Doc growls, shoving him off and back into the table. “They’re melting there, by the door. Gotta put them away.” 

“Oh shit,” Lightning mumbles, remembering the food. “Hope nothing's gone bad.” 

“If it has,” Doc says, peeling off, pressing a kiss to Lightning’s spent cock and making him shiver before he heads into the kitchen to wash his hands. “You’re the one going back out there to brave the world for more,” he calls, and Lightning grins, covering his face with his palms because it feels like his smile is too pure and wild and vulnerable to touch the air. 

He lies there and catches his breath, thinking about how he doesn't need Doc to tell him he loves him back, every time, because the times he _has_ said it are so precious and serious and quiet and hot Lighting _knows_ they’re the truth. The deepest and rawest truth, which makes them all the more beautiful. 

“Oh shit,” he says as his stomach growls. “I think m’actually hungry.” He gathers his bearings, manages to slide off the table and catch himself before he spills half-naked out onto the floor. “You fucked an appetite into me, old man.” His vision is sparkly, his balance all off. It’s at least _in part_ because he just came so hard so recently, but needing food could have to do with it, too. “Did you get eggs?” he asks, hopping back into his jeans and walking into the kitchen, pressing himself to Doc’s back while he puts away the groceries, arms curling around his waist. “I can make you breakfast for dinner. S’one of my few talents.” 

Doc turns around in his grip, cups his face between the wide, newly-cool splay of his washed palms and murmurs against his lips, “I’d say you have more than a few of those.” 

“Well. Let me showcase this lesser-known, fried-egg specific one,” Lightning says, hands all over Doc’s chest, his shoulders, greedy as he sneaks his fingers up under the hem of his shirt. “Gotta pay you back for all the orgasms.” 

“You don't need to _pay_ ,” Doc tells him, voice gentle, breath soft and caught between kisses. God, _god._ He tastes so good, smells so good, _feels_ so good Lightning is _already_ forgetting about the ache in his gut, the static behind his eyelids. Doc grabs his hips and steps away though, after one last, bruising kiss. “Love making you come.” 

“You’ll love my fried eggs, too,” he assures him, stumbling backwards into the kitchen counter, grinning. “Promise.” 

Doc rolls his eyes but his smile is soft around the edges, the blue of his eyes tender and warm. “Yeah. We’ll see about that.” 


End file.
